


Cinders

by FlatlandDan



Series: Burning Bright [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlatlandDan/pseuds/FlatlandDan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil doesn't sleep the first night he has Clint back, wrung out but warm and alive tucked against his chest. He runs through the itel they had on the op, the permutations and combinations of agents they could have sent and the outcome it would have generated. They sent Clint because he could handle the potential separation and single handedly deal with the tanks. They sent Clint because he felt he needed to prove himself as an individual member of SHIELD. They sent him because he was the best person they could send, and the mission returned him a wreck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinders

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't exactly the sequal to Matchsticks I intended to write, so there will be another part up (hopefully before Christmas). Sorry, you really have to read the first bit but I can now firmly promise a happy ending to the whole thing.
> 
> Written on my iPad so please excuse any spelling. They'll be corrected when I'm back from travels.

 

Phil doesn't sleep the first night he has Clint back, wrung out but warm and alive tucked against his chest. He runs through the itel they had on the op, the permutations and combinations of agents they could have sent and the outcome it would have generated. They sent Clint because he could handle the potential separation and single handedly deal with the tanks. They sent Clint because he felt he needed to prove himself as an individual member of SHIELD. They sent him because he was the best person they could send, and the mission returned him a wreck.

Phil doesn't sleep the first night he has Clint back, but eventually Clint does. Phil keeps one arm wrapped securely around him and grabs his Starkpad to draft a memo to Fury. _In light of these events, it is my opinion that Agent Barton is to be placed on temporary medical leave, with a field ready evaluation to be conducted in no less than two weeks or upon completion of a satisfactory debrief of Operation: High and Dry. -Agent Phil Coulson_

He's halfway through another, much more descriptive (I don't know if I can get him out of this room, much less out into the field) email to Nick when Clint suddenly got from asleep to awake. 

"Abraham. Anna. Grandma Maria. Ezekiel. Thomas. Alison." Phil doesn't understand the context for the names, even when Clint repeats them wide eyed like a mantra to himself as Phil pulls him back to the mattress and wraps himself around him. He repeats them until he falls back asleep and Phil wonders what the hell happened up in those mountains as he rubs circles on Clint's back.

The next time Clint wakes up he's shivering and wants his matches. Not any matches, his matches and so Phil asks JARVIS who asks Tony and a very long ten minutes later there is a soft knock at the door.  Phil keeps the lights off, ignores Clint's reluctance to let go and pads to the door.

"Tony." Stark is in his underwear and holding a box of matches in his hand.

"One box of matches, retrieved from one set of cargo pants that should probably be burned."

"Don't burn them, don't burn anything. We don't know what he might want."

"How is he?" Tony strains to try and look around him, to try and see his long lost teammate. When Clint had said goodbye they had thought he would be back within the month and despite only having known them each other for a few weeks the team had jelled well. Clint had been missed and Tony had done his best to design a floor with only Natasha and later Phil's input. When Clint was ready to explore beyond the bedroom he was currently in, he would find a living space with high vaulted ceilings and a network of walkways and beams connecting different unseen platforms. He'd find soft throw rugs on bamboo floors, a tidy little kitchen and his own hot tub. He'd find the couch Phil knew he'd been eyeing for a few months.

"Not so great," Phil honestly replied. Anyone who willing to build a floor for someone they had known for a week and fish through laundry at four am to find matches deserved the truth. Tony frowned.

"Keep us in the loop, Agent. Anything he needs."

 "He needs the same thing he always does: space, time and patience."

"We can do that." Tony smiles encouragingly and walks away as Phil shuts the door. He hands the matches to Clint who counts them out and sighs before putting them back into their box and the box under his pillow.  

"This is a bit neurotic, even for you Clint," Phil tells him as he settles in behind him.

"I know. I'm sorry." It's the first logical thing he's said in hours but the apology breaks Phil's heart more than his threats to leave SHIELD and the Avengers.

 "You don't get to apologise, not for this."

"I've got a lot of things to apologise for and a lot of the people I should apologise to are dead. I'll make the ones I can." Clint's voice sounds broken but Phil knows there is nothing he can do except what he's doing now. 

It's nearly noon when Clint wakes, and instinctively his hand reaches for his matches.

"Good morning." Clint's hand pauses mid reach and he rolls over to face Phil.

"You really are alive."

"I really am." Clint pauses to digest that information and Phil can't blame him. Most mornings he has to take a minute to think over that fact. 

"I don't want to get up" Clint gnaws on his bottom lip as he speaks and Phil wordlessly hands over the large stack of takeaway menus.

"Anything you want.  JARVIS can get it sent up. He also recorded a whole season of South Park for you, if you feel up for it." Clint smiled a little at that and carefully started sorting the menus into piles, slowly shifting menus from one side to another.  Phil can tell a lot based on what he automatically discards, what he reads and then discards and what he lingers over. 

"This menu," Clint says with a degree of finality. It's Steve's favourite all American diner, the place they order from when Captain America is feel nostalgic and Thor wants to eat half a cow.  Phil decides to push a bit.

"What do you want off it?" It's a bit of a cheap shot since Clint is usually either indecisive and apathetic towards his food but Phil wants to see his reaction. Clint looks down at the menu for a minute before looking up and meeting Phil's eyes.

"Chilli fries, mozzerella sticks, veg and drip and a slice of vanilla cheesecake." Clint's voice is even, steady, and Phil feels like he's watching bricklayers put up a wall around the mission in front of him. Clint's mind is a castle with too many obliets, too many forgotten prisons for memories. Phil forces a smile and reaches for his phone.

"Sounds good." It sounds horrible. It sounds like hours of one sided conversations, trying to force the situation. It sounds like Clint carrying all the guilt for another situation that isn't his fault. Phil knows he's left it to long to move when Clint curls into him again, worrying the corners of his t-shirt sleeve. Clint sucks in a breath before speaking.

"I have to forget this one. There was a family. Now there isn't. I don't want to talk about it again." Phil exhales and closes his eyes. 

"Ok. You have two weeks post-ops leave. I'll need a mission report when you get back."

"Ok."  

"Ok?"

"Not really."  

"You will be." 

"You're always so sure."

"That's because I believe in you." Clint's eyes snap up at his words and Phil knows he's hit both a question and a sore spot with that. "I'll order our food."

They're halfway through the South Park marathon and their food when Clint hits pause and turns to look at him again. 

"I have questions," Clint tells him, awkwardly pulling a piece of celery apart.

"What kinds of questions?"

"Why does God punish good people? Why does he give and take away? Why..." Clint seems to stagnate there and looks helplessly at his hands.  Phil leans back and tries to process.  Clint's lips silently repeat the names he said previously and he rubs his wrist.

"We could call a priest."  

"I don't know any priests. And I think it's late." Phil glances at the window and wonders when it got dark again.

"We could call in the morning." Clint nods and shuffles further down, temporarily satisfied and willing to give into sleep. They make it through half an episode before Phil asks JARVIS to turn off the television and sleeps himself. He wakes up 12 hours later to an empty bed and has a mild panic attack that it was all a dream, that he's still waiting for Clint to come back to him. Then he hears a conversation going on outside the room and recognises  both voices: Clint and JARVIS are speaking softly to each other in the living room. That Clint is up and moving around is more than he anticipated 36 hours ago so he lets himself smile, his heartbeat slow and his panic fade, and then he gets up and goes to see what's happening.

Clint is sitting on his sofa eating cheese whiz on toast, the sun streaming down on him through the rafters. 

"Priests don't get up as early as SHIELD agents," he says glumly by way of greeting. Phil let his smile turn to fond as he sits next to him, letting his eyes assess him in daylight. He's lost a little weight, not enough that Phil is worried but enough that he can be off his careful diet and eat whatever the hell he wants during his leave. A few bruises up have shown up, again nothing to worry about. He looks flush still, but the various antibiotics he's on to clear up infection are working through him and he looks better after a full night sleep. He wishes he'd seen Clint walk to be sure of his body.

"I should have suggested the SHIELD one last night. He's on call 24 hours a day to answer questions." Clint stills at his suggestion before shaking his head.

"No switchboard. No telephones. I want to talk to the priest in person." Phil nods and adds no telephone to the growing list of problems to deal with.

"How many have you tried calling so far?" Clint scowls and looks upwards.

"None. JARVIS said it was an inappropriate time and told me to eat more toast." Phil has to laugh at that.

"I have years of preventing Master Stark from making similar mistakes and suggesting that he eat. At least you seem willing to listen." JARVIS reminds them. Clint glares sullenly up at him and Phil reaches over to put a hand on his wrist.

"Hey, we'll call in a few hours." Clint nods and picks up another piece of toast. "Do you like the place?"

"I didn't actually think Stark would build me a floor."

"Two, actually. You have half the floor space but double the height of everyone else. I'm pretty sure there is a trapeze up there, somewhere." Clint hasn't actually said he likes it, but Phil isn't that worried. It's taken him years to understand Clintspeak, with it's total lack of vocalisation of what he likes. Tony could probably have given him anything and he would have been happy, but the way his eyes drift upwards and follow the lines up there, the way he's settled into the couch and gotten himself food: Phil knows they've done well and Clint feels safe. "Do you want something other than toast? I need coffee."

"Orange juice, that fresh shit you always like with bits in it."

JARVIS calls five priests later on that day and let's Phil do the talking, shaking his head no at the first four and nodding shyly at the fifth. He's busy, but if Clint wants to stop by after the late mass they can talk. Phil approves of his choice, the priest doesn't ask many questions about why a government agent needs to speak to a priest that day in confidentiality.  Clint whiles away the hours until his appointment exploring the lower levels of his apartment until Phil is standing under the ledge he thinks he's under, pot of soup in his hand.  

"Come on Clint, you know you have to eat before we go out."

"I'm not hungry." The reply is sullen and a bit defensive and Phil wonders if maybe he should have had Tony build a few emergency entrances into the upper levels.  

"It's just soup."  

"I fucking hate soup." Hates soup, Phil mentally adds to the list. 

"How about some grilled cheese?" He takes the silence as a yes and feels eyes follow him across the floor. Not for the first time he wonders how he's going to get Clint down the elevator and into a car without trouble. They're both still wearing PJs and Phil doesn't know if this is pushing it. But when he turns around Clint is sat at the breakfast bar, whispering his mantra to himself, and he eats his grilled cheese with pickles and more ketchup than Phil thinks is natural.

"What do you wear to meet a priest?" he asks, using his cuff to wipe his lips.

"I..." Phil starts, but he doesn't know how to continue. He's met with the SHIELD priest a few times, to arrange funerals and baptisms and weddings, and everything he's been wearing his suit. "I think you can wear anything you want. Maybe not a t-shirt?"

Phil leaves him to get dressed on his own. They have the time and both know the sooner Clint gets used to everything the better it will be. When he emerges he's wearing jeans that would probably slide a bit low without a belt (Phil can see the outline of the matchbox in the left pocket) and his extra soft grey long sleeved shirt. It's his favourite even though he'll never admit as much to anyone, even Natasha who bought it for him knowing it would make his eyes pop and flatter his shape.

"Good choice." Clint ducks his head shyly and Phil isn't used to this, a silent shy Clint, the outcome for seven months under cover in a country he was told not to learn the language in. He adjusts so well, Phil thinks to himself, so well that coming back is the problem. "Happy will drive us, unless you object." He doesn't phrase it like a question and thinks Clint looks a little relieved.

The ride the elevator down in silence, JARVIS keeping the ride clear for them.  In the garage Happy is waiting quietly for them and opens the door without blinking and Phil loves the man a little bit more. The church is a half hours drive away and they're silent the entire time, Clint worrying his frayed cuffs, lips moving in silence and Phil absorbed in planning the slow progress of the next few weeks. When they arrive Clint looks at the church for a few minutes.

"Right." It's the first thing he's said since he asked what he should wear.

"Do you want me to walk in with you?" Phil asks him softly.

"No. No. You can wait here." Clint huffs a little in the odd little way he does when he's gearing himself up for immunisations. He opens the door and trudges up the path. Phil watches him knock on a side door and walk in before knocking on the divide between him and Happy.

"We might be a while." 

"No problem, Agent. Do you want some coffee? You could Irish it up from the minibar." Phil is genuinely touched and after a bit of fiddling they both have cups of coffee. "Tony wants me to ask if Clint's ok." Phil laughs sharply and Happy joins him.

"He doesn't give up does he?"

"On people? I've never seen him give up on anyone. It's why I keep working for him even though he's brought my life expectancy down by half."

"Did he try to get you to ask the whole way here?"

"Pretty much. Clint didn't look like he was up for anyone asking." 

"A very astute observation. If Stark ever fires you give me a call." They sit in companionable silence, watching the side door under a light. Happy cleared his throat.

"Tony really was insistent. They all were."

"Tell them," Phil sighs. "Tell them he's better than Budapest but worse than Columbia." Tasha will be able to translate that for everyone and it's less obvious than saying Clint has issues to work through before he's ready to rejoin the world. Budapest ended with him is hospital, Columbia with a mild phobia of snakes that took ten sessions of psychotherapy to cure.

Two hours later the side door opens and Clint emerges, clutching an envelope. He shakes the priests hand and Phil watches the priest reach over to tap him lightly on chest. He thinks he sees a ghost of a smile pass over Clint's lips before he turns and walks down the path.

"Should I open the door for him?" Happy asks.

"As a rule, not unless he's bleeding. He hates stuff like that."

Clint slides in beside him and shoves the envelope into Phil's hands. 

"Mission report. I hope a debrief with God is good enough for SHIELD because that's all you’re getting." Phil cautiously opens the report and there it is, complete with crudely but appropriately drawn boxes. "Can you type it up for me? I don't want to read it again." Phil wants to make one of his normal comments, something like just this once or don't get used to this service but he can't. 

"Ok." He knocks twice on the widow and Happy drives off slowly, taking them back into the city. "You know you can talk to me about anything?"

"I know Phil. I know.  But you wouldn't judge me on this and," Clint pauses to think about his words. "I needed to be judged by someone on this one." Phil feels his face involuntarily frown.

"Do you feel better?"

"Yeah, a little."

"Did he tell you you should forgive yourself?" Phil knows he shouldn't ask, that this was one of the most private conversations Clint could have had. But they are as close to together as they will ever be and he wants to know. Clint is resting his forehead against the glass, eyes tracking the Christmas lights as they pass them. Phil doesn't think he's going to answer until suddenly he does.

"Kinda. He told me that we'll all burn, eventually."

Phil feels cold for the first time since Clint came back and he reaches over to squeeze Clint’s hand, pleased when he squeezes back. In his mind, he works on the list and tries not to think about the questions Clint might have asked. There isn't much else he can do.


End file.
